


Into the Stars

by donotspeaktomeofdragonfire



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Everyone is aliens, Fake Politics, Hat Films, Implied Sexual Content, Kirindave - Freeform, M/M, Nilesy - Freeform, POV Alternating, Pre-Canon, Semi Canon-Compliant, Slow Build, Spacemen - Freeform, Starfleet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donotspeaktomeofdragonfire/pseuds/donotspeaktomeofdragonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Minecraftia, before Honeydew, Inc., before SipsCo, before Strife Solutions, there lies a far more vast, more populated universe to discover. In this time, wars are fought on a much larger scale. Two groups, the Federation and the Quiards, remain in a standoff for control of the galaxies, and getting swept up into political intrigue is inevitable. Some people, however, aren't on any side but their own.</p><p>Set before and during Sips and Sjin's Spacemen animated series, and covering Xephos' semi-canon time in Starfleet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sjin -- Encounter at Venus

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter, and the beginning of the next, includes mild implied Xephos/Sjin. This pairing will not be the focus of the text, and may only be vaguely referenced again.  
> In addition, this fic will contain a ton of references to the Star Trek universe, but even if you're not familiar with the show, you should still be able to enjoy the work!  
> The Quiards are a made-up word for those in Spacemen who wear uniforms with squares on their chests, i.e. Sips and Sjin's canon spacesuit skins.
> 
> (You can skip the rest of this author's note if you don't care much about alien biology)
> 
> Xephos and Will Strife are designed after Luminan biology, which is a common headcanon. It's unlikely that this fic will contain any explicit sexual content, but if you'd like the biological reference, see the end note. In short, Luminans are the aliens in all the fanart with glowy freckles.
> 
> Sjin's appearance in this fic is based on his canon design in Spacemen: yellow and scaly, with large cat-like eyes. His biology is based on a unique (now slightly outdated) reptilian design, largely conceived of by Maj (voidfruit.tumblr.com). If you want to know about Sjin's "tongues," see the end notes.  
> As for Sips, he's basically human, as far as we know...

    The Fleru Khect was the perfect hole-in-the-wall bar on the wrong side of the solar system. Its door wasn’t hidden intentionally, but the layer of grime that covered everything in the city did the job just as well. Venus wasn’t the sort of planet you visited without a switchblade in hand.  
    Sjin tapped his claws impatiently against his glass of synthale as he perched on a stool at the bar’s main counter, trying not to breathe in too much of the smoke that permeated the Venusian atmosphere. Rebreathers were expensive and uncomfortable, and Sjin prefered to have his face and mouth clear in case of trouble. As it was, he grinned freely at the variety of babes and blokes and others that were gyrating on and around the dance floor to the rough music that was playing. It wasn’t exactly his favorite style, but it was loud, and loud was what Sjin needed right now. A Venusian slid up next to him, one hand on the bar and another on their hip, and turned a stunning threefold smile on him. It was clear that the being had seen enough to not be startled by Sjin’s reptilian appearance. Sjin waved them away with a sad smile of regret. He had a soft spot for Venusians and their three talented heads, but there wasn’t time for that, tempting as it was. Tonight, he was waiting for someone special. He didn’t know who, quite yet, other than they had asked about him by name and made him aware of an undercover position that would pay quite well. A nearly treasonous job, he was warned. Sjin didn’t often work with people before he knew the job’s exact requirements, but his sources were tight and about as trusted as they could be in a business like this.  
    Through the darkly-lit room, Sjin turned his eyes again to the door, peering past the growing butt of fog. Why, exactly, the dance floor needed a fog machine when Venus was already polluted past a reasonably habitable limit wasn’t exactly clear. Ten minutes and two more glasses were gone before someone walked in that could have been the target. A Luminan. Sjin sipped at his drink, examining the newcomer across the room whenever the laser lights flicked past him.  
    The alien was in what he probably considered “plainclothes,” a pathetic attempt to seem inconspicuous. The blue-and-white striped crewneck was casual enough, but his black trousers were too neatly pressed and his shoes barely scuffed. Sjin’s grin spread wider up his scaly cheeks as he looked the Luminan over from head to toe. This had to be the guy. His outfit and his posture -- ramrod straight, hands shoved in his pockets to stop them from finding natural parade rest behind his back -- all gave him away as a Federation goon. Zarking Feds. Normally, Sjin wouldn’t have anything to do with them -- he preferred not to get caught up in politics -- but this job had promised to pay well. It wasn’t even a shoot-em-up or a blow-em-up job, as far as he’d understood. Might not be worth it. Sjin didn’t usually take jobs that didn’t appeal to him personally. It wasn’t morals, per se, rather, he much preferred a job that was just downright fun. But when there was a great deal of money involved, it tended to sing to his heartstrings -- or would, if he had any.  
    Stepping cautiously in the shadows at the edges of the room, and very deliberately avoiding the main bustle, the Fed moved purposefully towards the bar. When he dropped his elbows against the mahogany wood countertop and quietly ordered a gin, Sjin sipped his own synthale and slid over to the suspicious fellow, grinning widely. Sjin’s grins were a threatening gesture at the best of times. Being Reptilian, his teeth were rather sharper, and his eyes rather larger, than one might be used to in a humanoid, which was helpful for when he wanted a situation to go his way. The Luminan’s eyes flicked to Sjin and he gulped, his fragile little Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his thin throat. Sjin had to physically stop himself from thinking about what it would look like to see that bioluminescent blue Luminan blood-stuff flowing out across the floor, and what it would taste like. Neon, probably, or something like it, buzzing down his throat. Licking his eyeball in an approximation of a wink, Sjin recalled the subtle passphrase he’d been informed they’d use.  
    “Hey, blue-eyes, did it hurt when you fell out of Heaven?” he sneered.  
    The offended Luminan’s lip curled, his expression souring from fear to indignation, and he looked like he was about to turn Sjin’s advances down with a scathing remark. But Sjin widened his eyes, pulling the muscles in his face tighter, and watched as the Fed caught himself, coughed, and downed his shot of gin in one go.  
    “Did it hurt when you crawled up from Hell?”  
    Well. At least the Feds were smart enough to send him one that caught on pretty quickly. Probably a rising young officer. Then again, Sjin couldn’t really tell how old he was. He wasn’t exactly an expert on humanoid mammals. In fact, he wasn’t a fan of them in general. There were a few scars and a few scales missing in places he usually hid to remind him of why he didn’t like them, in case he ever went and got any ridiculous ideas about them.  
    “Let’s you and me find a booth.” Sjin tipped his snout, widening his grin even further as the glowy chap’s gin was refilled and placed in front of him with a clunk. The bartender eyed them suspiciously, and Sjin eyed him back. He wasn’t concerned. Suspiciously was generally the default way to be eyed on Venus.  
    Wrapping one clawed hand gingerly around the Luminan’s soft arm and the other around his own drink, Sjin tugged them away from the bar. He led them on a path around the main floor, kicking aside a few sozzled creatures and dodging intertwined couples. When he spotted an empty booth, Sjin dropped the glow-boy’s arm and parked on one side of the table. The Fed slid into the opposite seat without much grace, his eyes more focused on the dancers and other illicit activities going on in the hazy room. Sjin checked under the table for anyone trying to sneak a bit of privacy, and, satisfied, faced the Luminan once more.  
    “You don’t get out much, do you?” Sjin chuckled casually, and tipped his synthale into his mouth, catching it on his lower tongue- generally used for lapping up blood, but it served the purpose. It buzzed pleasantly as the deep bassline of the music rattled their seats.  
    “Not to this part of town, no,” the Fed admitted with a shrug. “Not even to this arm of the galaxy, even.”  
    “Well, I guess that answers the question of ‘do you come here often,’ then.”  
    The Fed straightened his back, running one hand through his slicked-back dark hair. Apparently it was impossible for one to even try to relax, or so Sjin had heard. “Are you S’jin? I need to make sure. I need to-” He pulled out a small silver scanner from his pocket, and a few who weren’t paying complete attention to the music glanced over to him to see if it was a weapon of some sort. Sjin reached out to grab it, to get it out of view, but the glow-boy pulled it away and hid it under the table himself. “I need to make sure you’re not some sort of con artist,” he muttered, leaning in closer so Sjin could hear him.  
    “I am a con artist, or isn’t that what you signed up for? Your name first.”  
    “Lieu --” The Luminan stopped himself before he could give away his rank in the middle of a group of Quiards. While Sjin’s sure most of them held no particular loyalties to the local government, there were still quite a few bounties out for captured Federation officers, and some of the crowd who were not distracted by each other or their drinks were watching them. “Xephos. It’s just Xephos.”  
    “Well, _Just Xephos_ ,” Sjin hummed conspiratorially, “why don’t you let your little thingie there tell you who I am? Or do you need a complete DNA sample? I’ve heard that those things can tell you anything from my blood type to where I’m from to how I make love -- well, I don’t suppose you’d need a little machine to tell you that the answer to that one is ‘very, very well.’”  
Xephos snorted -- actually _snorted_ \-- at him, finally breaking his stick-straight stance. “I’ll have to take your word for that one,” he laughed, his shoulders shaking. He pointed the scanner again at Sjin. It beeped and booped, and finally dinged, a little too loud for Sjin’s comfort. “It’s a match to our records. We _have_ records. Of you.”  
    “I’ll take your word for it,” Sjin mimicked, tittering. “Actually, you know, you don’t have to take my word for it. I can show you firsthand.”  
    Glow-boy glowed. He really was an interesting shade of cobalt at this point, right around his cheekbones and nose and long pointy ears. _Ears like a Vulcan’s_ , Sjin thought, while sending off a quick ‘thank you’ to the universe that he wasn’t. Vulcans were the worst to negotiate with. No sense of humour. Sjin’s attention was drawn once again to the officer sitting next to him by a few intriguing spots down near his exposed collarbone, which seemed to have begun glowing faintly along with the rest of him.  
    “I’ll have to pass on that one, thanks,” Xephos chuckled. “Now, can we talk about the deal?”  
    Sjin scanned the room, noting the eyes still on them and a few people actually shifting in their seats and whispering to those next to them. It was such an insecure spot for such a covert deal. “Actually, how about we drop by my place? I rented a room for the night.”  
    With an indignant huff, Xephos shook his head. “I thought I said I’d pass.”  
    Rolling his eyes, Sjin tried to make himself clearer. “No, I mean it’s a more private place. No bugs. Well, at least not the electronic kind. I can’t guarantee any sort of sanitation in that dump.”  
    Xephos caught on. “Oh -- right. Of course. Should we --” He stood and made to go, leaving his glass behind, but Sjin followed him up, catching their hands together. The Luminan was soft, ridiculously soft, his skin so thin, and Sjin’s claws scraped against his veins. One smidgen more of pressure and he’d be bleeding all over the floor.  
    “Excuse me, what the frell do you think you’re doing?”  
    “We have to have a good cover,” Sjin hissed at him. “We’ve both had a couple of drinks, okay? And you’ve taken me up on my offer.”  
    The Fed swore under his breath. “Good thing I took those acting classes back at the- back in school,” he muttered, removing Sjin’s hand from his and wrapping his arm around Sjin’s waist. It was an uncomfortably intimate gesture, and Xephos’ hand brushed a small patch of missing scales under his suit.         Sjin nearly bit his tongues to stop himself from lashing out at the touch- luckily for him, Xephos noticed the soft spot and moved his hand higher before Sjin did anything drastic.  
    They wandered up to the bar counter again and Xephos started to dig in his trouser pockets for his card, then stopped and glanced at Sjin. The blue boy couldn’t use his own card, Sjin realized, as it would give him away, so Sjin sighed deeply and let the bartender prick his finger. A small donation of blood should be enough to cover their tab.  
    As they headed out the door and into the thick, foggy air of a typical Venusian night, someone at the corner squinted at Xephos warily, obviously suspicious of his outfit and regulation-cut hair. So, to convince anyone around that they were together for other reasons, Sjin leaned over and licked at Xephos’ neck with his blood tongue. Xephos shuddered and let out a long breath, but Sjin wasn’t sure whether it was from revulsion or from the fact that Sjin’s tongue had hit and dragged one of those fascinating little blue spots. Sjin shuddered for other reasons -- his blood-tongue had picked up on the taste of mammalian sweat, and his mind was again frustrated by dark imaginings.

    The room Sjin had rented was as dingy and worn as the bar, a little flat with not much more than a bed, a table with no chairs, and a small attached room with a toilet and a sink. Decidedly not designed for long-term residence. Sjin, flopping down on the bed, noted that several of the springs were broken and it sagged ominously in the middle. As there weren’t any other furnishings, the Luminan had no choice but to sit on the bed next to him, back formally straight again.  
    “So, the arrangement. The deal. You get a Quiard suit, get an identity, and infiltrate the _Q.S. Wyvern_. Find out what you can, and transmit the data back to us.”  
    “Just a data transmission? Really?”  
    “Well,” Xephos smirked, crossing his legs. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt much if somehow, after we had our data link, the ship somehow, mysteriously, were to-”  
    “Explode?”  
    “Yeah, wouldn’t that be a shocking tragedy? A state-of-the-art military vessel, with a fine young Betazoid captain, and a full compliment, all blasted out of the sky by, say, a malfunctioning warp coil or something?”  
    “It certainly would be.” Sjin got it, and his heart leapt with excitement. A secret mission behind the secret mission. “And how much would it pay for such an accident?”  
Xephos nodded and smiled at him. “The, er, organization I work for is willing to pay two mil to see the job done. Two million.”  
    “One million credits before, one after, right?”  
    “Erm. Half a million before, maybe? We don’t really want you running off with the money.”  
    “Seventy-five thousand, then.” Sjin darted his lower tongue up to his eyeball again, clearing it, and Xephos cringed slightly.  
    “Sure, yes, that could work. Would work. Will work.” The Fed didn’t seem all too confident in his words. “Do I -- Should I send it to your account now?”  
    Pulling out a small communications card, Sjin held it up to Xephos, who brought out his tricorder again and scanned it. It beeped and he frowned at it.  
    “This isn’t your account. You don’t look much like a ‘Paul’.”  
    “It’s an alias. And it’s none of your business.”  
    “As long as it’s secure, I suppose.” Xephos shrugged, handing the card back to Sjin. “All right, I’ve made the deposit.”  
    “Fantastic!” Sjin grinned again, his thin lips peeling back to reveal two rows of fang-like teeth.  
    Abruptly, Xephos rose to leave, straightening out his shirt and brushing himself off. “If that’s all, then?” He made a few steps towards the door, but Sjin made a small clicking noise in the back of his throat and stopped him.  
    “You know, blue-eyes,” he purred, spreading his hand across the mattress, “I _did_ pay for the room for the full night.”  
    Xephos glowed a very deep turquoise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luminan sexual biology link: donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/98822301270/the-illustrated-guide-to-banging-a-luminan 
> 
> Sjin's design includes four "tongues" -- two are on opposite sides inside his mouth, ridged, and built to help with attacking and eating; one tongue is a "blood tongue", which is used for lapping up blood as well as clearing irritants from the eyes; and the "mating tongue", which has social as well as biological purpose.


	2. Xephos -- Where No One has Gone Before

    Xephos stepped out into the muggy fog of a Venusian double sunrise and coughed. He needed a rebreather, his lungs would acidify if he stayed here too much longer, but it would have given him away for sure. This was a dark city, a dark planet, where anything of any worth was mugged off of you. They’d take anything, he’d heard, even you yourself.  
    He shook his head to get the drowsiness out of his brain, scratched at his beard, and fumbled around for his backup communicator. He’d been required to leave his own back on the ship in case he was compromised, the backup communicator was clean of any data that his personal one held. Politics were a heady thing to get caught up in, and it made him rather uncomfortable, in fact. He knew, logically, of another planet by the name of Venus, back in the Sol star system, near Earth- the original home of the Federation- but that was long distant, and the only Venus he was accustomed to was this one, a seedy spot just three million miles from the conjoined suns of Fea and Der. But this one was instead controlled by the Quiards: some of the Federation’s fiercest rivals since the Klingons, the Romulans, or even the Cardassians. Unlike those that came before, however, the Quiards were a rival collection of planets and systems, working together in one big government, as the Federation did, and that made them a serious threat, in ways other than simply on the battlefield.  
    This assignment was simple, was supposed to be. Find the being, give him his instructions, beam back up. Xephos crossed two of those out on his mental list and circled the third one- get back to the ship. Ducking into an alley, and trying very hard not to notice the noises coming from a little further on, he brought the communicator up to his mouth and pressed it, murmuring, “One to beam up.” The signal was caught and answered almost immediately, and Xephos found himself back on the _Enterprise_ , surrounded by the refreshingly clean white walls of the transporter room. A familiar face smiled at him from the console.  
    “Did I get you back all in one piece?” Strife grinned at him, and Xephos stepped over to him, greeting the other Luminan with a friendly chirrup.  
    “What are you doing manning the transporters? Aren’t you supposed to be down doing important Assistant Chief Engineer stuff?”  
    “You know, the _Enterprise-H_ is a beautiful machine, Xephos. She practically runs herself.”  
    As those in the Engineering track tended to do, Strife had picked up the human affectation of referring to nonliving ships by feminine pronouns. It was a term of endearment and familiarity, Strife had told him, demonstrating a sense of closeness with the ship, as if it were a living being itself.  
    Xephos, frankly, hadn’t gotten it.  
    “Let me guess -- you just wanted to see me?” Xephos joked. Will laughed and nodded at him.  
    “You’re a funny man, Xephos, a very funny man. Actually, I wanted to give you a heads-up: Captain Aristo is not in a good mood. We’ve stayed cloaked, but ze is so jumpy in Quiard territory, you know.”  
    “Ze’s got every reason to be. Let’s get out of here.”  
    “Absolutely, Lieutenant Commander.” Strife snapped to attention sarcastically. “Right after you get a shower.”  
    Xephos flushed and the corner of his lip twitched downwards. “Erm. Right. Are you -- did you --”  
    “After you didn’t call in last night, we figured you’d spent a few strips of latinum on a room,” Strife explained. “Unless, of course, you found yourself a lucky Venusian…” Xephos sputtered and Strife winked playfully at him. “Just get yourself to a shower before you get back to the bridge. If I’m right, your shift doesn’t start until… Nineteen-hundred hours. You’ve got about half an hour.”  
    “I don’t know if any of those rooms would be worth even a slip of latinum,” he retorted, and Strife made shooing motions at him. “All right, I’m off, I’m off.”  
    Not being able to resist one more parting jab, Xephos turned back to him from the doorway and added, “That’s First Officer now, not Lieutenant Commander. Get it right.”  
    “That’s _acting_ First Officer, Xephos. Don’t let it go to your head.”

    The ship was comfortably familiar to him, much more so than the planet he was just on, which they were speeding away from at just under Warp 6 -- any faster and their subspace signature could be detected. Once the job was done, S’jin would simply contact them over secure channels and be rewarded with the rest of the money. He’d requested it in credits, which was, Strife had remarked, a bit of an economically unstable unit of currency, seeing as it was simply a virtual currency with no real value behind it. Xephos told him he should be in business instead of engineering, and Will laughed. Will laughed at a lot of things, he was beginning to notice. It was rather nice.  
    Ordering the turbolift, Xephos stepped inside with a few other crew members on their ways to various other parts of the ship. Strife was right, the shower had cleared his head, and he was thinking straight again. He wasn’t entirely sure what had been in that gin- it was the gin, it had to have been- but he’d needed to get it out of his system.  
The bridge was all in order as he stepped out onto it, and Captain Aristo nodded at him as he took his seat beside zir. He noticed that zir hair was tucked up into a silvery-blond bun today, and that the age wrinkles around zir eyes were starting to show. The little touches were what gave zir away as distinctly human, despite the vestigial antennae peeking through at the crown of zir head, and a slightly blue tinge to zir skin, left over from Andorian ancestry.  
    “The arrangement is sorted?” ze asked quietly.  
    Xephos nodded. “Er, yes. Seventy-five thousand credits beforehand, the rest of the two million afterwards. That should work to get the _Wyvern_ off our backs for good.”  
    “If he’s as good as they say he is.”  
    Chuckling, Xephos nodded. “We’ve got -- we’ve got another contact in the Quiards just in case it falls through. And we can always cancel even the initial payment, there’s a Ferengi on the Federation payroll who knows how to get it back. Credits are rather unsafe, actually.”  
    “You’re quite the networker, aren’t you? Good trait in such a promising young commander.”  
Xephos preened.

    Sixteen hours into his double shift, Xephos was perched in the captain’s chair, trying to keep his eyes open in Captain Aristo’s absence, when a call came over his comm.  
    “Will Strife to Xephos.”  
    “I’m here. What do you need?” He sat up straighter, a wave of concern coming over him. If Strife was calling from Engineering, something could have gone wrong internally. They couldn’t stop for repairs while they were still in Quiard territory, it could be a major issue.  
    “When do you get off your shift?”  
    Xephos sighed with relief and frustration, relaxing again. “Is that actually all you called about?”  
    “Well, yeah. I wanted to know if you would meet me in Holodeck B when you get done.”  
    There were a few quiet giggles from the bridge crew- gossipping bastards- but N’Vea, the Vulcan chief of security, coughed warningly at them and it was quiet again, besides the ever-present hum of machinery.  
    “Frankly, Will, I need a nap. But I will catch you up on that offer sometime.”  
    “Glad to hear it. Strife out.”

    The _Enterprise_ was out of that arm of the galaxy by the time Xephos tumbled into bed. “Computer, lights off,” he muttered, and the room was plunged into darkness, with the only light the pinprick view of the stars from his quarters. There was a vast and incomprehensible universe out there, and the stars winking at him only served to remind him of how much they’d never know.  
    It had barely been an hour before Dah, the Ocampan communications officer, radioed him.  
    “Bridge to Xephos. Sir, the Reptilian has contacted us with the first of the information. He’s connected to the main computers on the _Wyvern._ ”  
    “That’s great, just great, Dah,” Xephos called from his position deep in the pillows. “Is that all?”  
    “He sent a message just before he began transmitting: ‘Here’s your stuff, Blue-Eyes.’ I assume he meant you.”  
    Xephos groaned and rolled over. “It’s not important. Can I go back to sleep now?”  
    The comm caught Dah’s gentle laughter. “My apologies, sir. I’ll alert you when there are any changes or new developments. Dah out.”  
    As soon as Dah logged off, Xephos was sound asleep. He had no knowledge of how much time had passed before the comms once again dinged at him.  
    “Bridge to Xephos.”  
    “Yeah?”  
    “We’ve received a hail from your contact. It’s urgent.”  
    Sighing deeply, Xephos willed himself out of bed, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk and pressing at the bridge of his nose to relieve the headache that was threatening at the edges of his skull. “Can you send it to my quarters?”  
    “Of course, sir.”  
    A section of Xephos’ wall lit up, and the Reptilian’s twitchy face filled the screen.  
    “Hey, kid, can your Federation goons help me out here?” Sjin’s proximity to the screen and the mic amplified the heavy breaths he was letting out, blaring fuzzily through Xephos’ speakers.  
    “Why do you need help?” Xephos asked testily. “We’re light-years away.”  
    Sjin swore in frustration, and the computer automatically decreased the volume in reaction to the sudden loud outburst. “I, er, seem to find myself in a bit of a pickle. A pickle that is an airlock.”  
    Xephos was instantly awake, his spine stiffening. “Did you get compromised? Do they know? What happened?”  
    Licking his eyeball nervously, Sjin grinned, as he had an annoying habit of doing. “Well, ah, you see, you didn’t exactly tell me she had a _wife_.”  
    “You --”  
    “Made sweet, sweet space love to the captain’s wife? Yes. Got myself stuck in an airlock? Yes. Am actually stooping so low as to ask for help? Maybe.”  
    Xephos sighed and sat down heavily again, rubbing at his temples. “We’re not bailing you out. You -- Why the hell did you even think that was a good idea?”  
    “Y --You said infiltrate! I figured I’d, y’know, socialize, make a few friends, right?” Sjin’s confident exterior seemed to be slipping a few notches, when the transmission became suddenly very noisy, like the sound of rushing wind. “Oh, _shit_ ,” he shouted, glancing off-screen to something Xephos couldn’t see, and then there was a rather dizzying moment as Sjin’s head was knocked about in the helmet. There was a blur of yellow, a short screech, and then silence.  
    Xephos ended the transmission and sent a message to the captain.  
    “Contact was compromised. Should I get in touch with our alternative?”


	3. Sjin -- Infiltration

    Sjin was still sitting on the edge of the sagging bed in the small, hopelessly dingy room, munching on something he’d found in the refrigerator. While he wasn’t generally the type to make plans, this was a delicate operation.

    Find a suit, find an identity, get a job on the ship. Should be easy enough.  
    Sjin tapped at his communications device and frowned. He was still in the small, hopelessly dingy room, perched on the edge of the bed and trying his best to ignore the suspicious wet spots on the mattress.  
    The communicator buzzed in reply. The image Sjin received showed the uniform as a violent orange-trimmed spandex suit, which was rather garish, but there was no time to be picky. He’d pick it up in the next few hours and be done with it.  
    The next step would be the more difficult one- assigning himself to the _Q.S. Wyvern_. A brand new ship, just out of the yard, and her crew hadn’t gotten time to get used to each other yet. He’d slide right in. It was certain to be a flawless plan.

     On launch day, everything was in place. Sjin had his suit, his helmet, his false I.D. and credentials. His name was on the list. If his own contact came through, that was. See, what these Federation bozos didn’t know was that it took a lot of teamwork to pull something like this off. He’d be lucky if he got half the cut, with the amount he was paying everyone else.  
    He stepped up to the boarding platform with confidence. First, the shuttle ride, then, the ship itself. Walk like you have a purpose, he told himself. That’ll get you anywhere. Head high, stride big. The metal walkway clanked under the tromp of heavy boots.  
    “Am I the last one on?” he chuckled warmly as he ducked into the doorway of the shuttle. “Name’s Sam, I should be on the list. Geez, if I’m not, that would _not_ be good!”  
    The attendant smiled at him and waved one tentacle. “You’re fine, we’re just about to close the doors. Everyone strapped in?”  
    Sjin found the last empty spot, the one that had belonged to the _real_ Sam. Poor guy was lying dead in an alley somewhere. The only shame was that Sjin hadn’t been able to do it himself.  
    “This your first time up?” the sparkly being next to him asked. “It’s quite a shock, let me tell you. I’m Obe, assistant chief medical officer! Or, well, a nurse.” They giggled, and Sjin fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Do you not take your helmet off inside?”  
    “Special, ah, special environmental conditions,” Sjin explained. “The ship is fitted with special rooms, right? For different atmospheres?”  
    “Of course!” Obe’s smile was ingratiating. “Lord knows I’ve met quite a few interesting fellows in my time, you’re certainly not the first to need special care! Well, not special _care_ as such, I’m not insinuating you need anyone to help take care of you, but if you ever _do_ , well, I’m your nurse!”  
    They prattled on like this for the entire ride, and Sjin was thoroughly thankful he didn’t have to make small talk. As an additional bonus, he now knew which one was going to die first, if he ever got the chance to run wild across the ship. He entertained himself with counting exactly every way he could kill Obe, even from where they were sitting. Three hundred twenty four. No, three hundred twenty five, if he could get everyone else around them who had to listen to this as well on his side. Especially, say, that brunette looker sitting across from them. A Betazoid, she had to be, the eyeballs were distinctive. She turned and caught his gaze. Oh, _shit,_ he realized with a start -- Betazoids were _psychic_. Empathetic.  
    She could probably only sense that he was nervous, uncomfortable. There was an easy explanation, for now, the annoying little shit currently talking his ear off. Not the mission. He’d have to avoid her once on the ship. It should be easy, right?

    They escaped the thick Venusian atmosphere and broke off into true space. There they were, stretched above him, stars and planets and galaxies too many to count. Enough to stuff the mouth of this asshole sitting next to him, who had proceeded to ooh and aah much too loudly. But in another moment, it was Sjin who was almost _ooh_ -ing and _aah_ -ing alongside him, for there, still docked to the space station, was the biggest, most beautiful ship Sjin’d ever had the honor to lay eyes on. It was a wonder to behold, the queen of the fleet, glinting in the light of the conjoined suns.  
    It was going to be the best ship Sjin had ever blown up. He wiped a tear of joy from his eye just thinking about it.

    When the tentacled pilot landed them all neatly in the shuttlebay, Sjin made sure he didn’t have to stand in line next to Obe. Instead, he wound up right behind the Betazoid, staring at the back of her head. She had long brown hair, a mass of curls down to her curvaceous waist. They shuffled forwards in line, and Sjin watched her hips swing.  
    The Betazoid stepped up to the door and the person standing there waved her on. “Good to see you made it here in one piece, Nei,” she chuckled. “Go on in. Actually, could you wait for me on the bridge?”  
    “‘Course, Captain,” Nei nodded, stepping forwards and off to the side. Sjin moved into her place and attempted to give an innocent smile, as much as he could with the helmet obscuring the view of his face.  
    “Hello, my name’s Sam!” he chirped. “You must be the captain!”  
    The captain’s hair was short, and curled around her ears. “Sam, huh? No last name? Let’s see…” She tapped at her Padd and her lips quirked off to one side. “Special habitation unit D. Nice to have you on board, Sam. You can go ahead and head up to your quarters and get settled in, your luggage should have come on board yesterday.”    
    Sjin nodded smartly. “Yes sir, ma’am?”  
    “Either will do. Move along now.”  
    He was in.

    Special habitation unit D was rather barren, in fact. There was a detailed atmosphere control panel on the wall next to the door, which was sealed. Sjin tapped at it with one claw, and managed to set it to a dry heat, with a decent amount of nitrogen pumped in through the specialized air vents. He popped off his helmet and breathed deeply, coughing to get the smog out of his lungs. Several boxes of what Sjin assumed was the former Sam’s luggage were stacked haphazardly in the middle of the room, and he approached one and clicked it open. Just clothing in the first one, all weird checkered shirts in blue and green and red. Who would wear such eyesores?  
    The next one was books, stacks upon stacks of them. He picked one up with two claws and held it like a human would hold a dead rat. Clothes and books, geez, this Sam was definitely not an interesting one, was he? A third box was jeans, but as he tossed it aside carelessly, it spilled out onto its side, dumping the contents across the floor. There was a noise that was certainly not simply fabrics, and Sjin turned back to it. There was now, apparently, a hefty collection of “skin mags” strewn across his new room. Well, at least that was something.  
    Sjin left the boxes alone, for now, and moved to examining the room itself. Specialized habitation units were known to be the most customizable, and thus the most luxurious, of any of the rooms on a starship. He stepped up to the massive glass windows that stretched the length of one wall, and pressed at a panel, which slid a bed out from the wall, running into his shins and nearly knocking him off his feet. The panel changed to show a wide variety of options, and Sjin grinned from ear to ear. This was going to be fun.

    Sixteen hours into the _Q.S. Wyvern’s_ maiden voyage, Sjin found himself in the mess hall with Nei. Apparently her full name was Neiomi, and Sjin was sure she’d said a whole lot more about herself than that, but he was frankly more focused on… other things.  
    “You really haven’t been listening to me, have you?” she laughed, pulling him out of his trance. His gaze snapped back to her face.  
    “No, yes, of course I’ve been listening!” he sputtered.  
    “I just told you you had an arm growing out of your stomach,” Nei informed him. “I really, honestly don’t think you’ve been listening.”  
    “I thought you meant, like, metaphorically.” He was grasping at straws, and he knew it, but Nei didn’t actually look like it bothered her.  
    “So, Sam, maybe it would keep you more interested in the conversation if you’d talk a little bit about yourself?”  
    Sjin coughed. “Or, eh, we could get some synthale. You have synthale on this ship, right? Because I could really, honestly use a glass right now.”  
    Nei gestured to the barkeep, who replicated two glasses of clear liquid and brought them over to their table. “You know, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but you can’t exactly drink that with your helmet on.”  
    He had, in fact, forgotten, and his cup was halfway to his helmet when he stopped. “Well, I suppose that means I’ll have to drink it in my room, doesn’t it? And- and it wouldn’t do for me to just leave you here.”  
    Nei had a big laugh to match her size. She stood from the table and grinned mischievously at him. “No, no it wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.”

    Sjin was really, really glad that he’d scoped out all the Jefferies tubes ahead of time, because now he was skittering along up and down them, through the spaces between decks, his claws ripping tiny holes in the tips of his gloves. He could hear shouts through the walls, and the captain’s voice over the intercoms, insisting that the one calling himself “Sam” was to be apprehended at once and brought to the airlocks on Deck 6.  
    Apparently, it was a very, very bad idea to hook up with a girl who turned out to be the captain’s wife. Especially if the captain’s a Betazoid.  
    In his defense, it was some very good synthale.  
    There was a commotion near a grate he ran past, angry voices in various languages.  
    “There he is! He’s in the tubes! I can hear him! Get him!”  
    He’d even left his explosives back in the room, god dammit. At least he’d had time to set up a communications link between the _Wyvern_ and the blue boy’s main computer. That had to count for something, right? Maybe he’d still get a share of the money. Not enough, perhaps, to even keep for himself, with all the damned expenses and people he’d had to pay off. Not enough to make this whole thing worth it.  
    A hatch opened behind him and someone grabbed at Sjin’s ankle. He scrabbled at the smooth metal of the tube, but whoever had him had the advantage of brute strength, and he was dragged backwards out of the opening. They held him upside down, and though his head was bumping against the floor, he could still look down (up?) and see that it was a Klingon. Races from all over had joined the Quiards- they were calling it the new Federation, a better Federation. Sjin wasn’t so confident. It would all end up the same: wars fought over petty political rivalries, captains making up their own rules, destroying worlds and experimenting on anyone they came across.  
    He spat and the Klingon growled at him. “What’re you?”  
    “My name is Sam, and I’d very much appreciate it if you put me down before anyone regrets it.”  
    “You’re lying,” came a higher-pitched voice, and footsteps signaled the captain’s approach. “Your name isn’t Sam. I don’t know what you are, but I don’t think you belong here.”  
    Sjin bared his teeth. “Fine then. Paul.”  
    The Betazoid clicked her tongue and Sjin found himself being shaken by the Klingon.  
    “Lying again. How deep do you bury yourself?”  
    “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said primly, glancing around for the best way out. Suddenly, he flexed his stomach and curled up in two, attacking the hand that still held his ankle. Unfortunately, this just made the Klingon mad, and instead of being held Sjin found himself flying towards the opposite wall of the corridor. He hit it with a smack, and was back on his feet in seconds, flying towards the Klingon with murder in his eyes and his claws bared. He landed on the Klingon mouth-first, teeth digging into his forehead and chin. Sjin could taste blood, but he resisted lapping at it. There wasn’t time for a meal.  
    Hearing the captain shout for security, Sjin leaped off of his foe, considering him dispatched. He turned instead to the captain herself, readying for another pounce, but found himself caught in his tracks as she glared at him. It’s those damn Betazoid mind fuckery abilities, he realized, as his bones started to feel like lead and he slumped to the floor. Someone hoisted him from behind as the rest of the security team came storming around the corner- apparently the Klingon wasn’t as out for the count as he had hoped. He was carried by the scruff of his suit, unable to fight back, down the corridor.  
    “Now, whatever your name is, since we’ve just started off, I don’t think we’ll have time to turn around and give you a trial. So I’m not going to put you in the brig. Now, one of my advisors has given me a great idea, which normally I would be loathe to accept -- xe says we should throw you out the airlock. Did you know it takes thirty seconds for a human to die in space?”  
    _I wonder how long it would take you to die once I got my claws out,_ Sjin thought loudly at her, and she smiled harshly at him.  
    “Frankly, I’d think that’s cruel and unusual punishment. So I’ll cut you a deal: we’ll still throw you out the airlock, but you get your helmet back before you go. Does that sound good to you?” They rounded a corner and stepped into a turbolift.  
    Sjin decided to think about every gruesome scene he’d ever caused, as loudly as he could. He wasn’t exactly an expert on mental faculties, but when a horrified and disgusted look crossed the captain’s face, he knew he’d affected her.  
    Thankfully, it shut her up for the rest of the way.  
    He tried not to think about how torturous it was to be there, limp and unable to move, trapped inside his own mind. He wanted to scream, wanted to kick and bite and scratch, but this cage had no bars, no walls or doors, nothing to fight against but the terrifying disconnect between his body and brain. All he could do was watch, before they came to a large door that opened automatically for them with a woosh. The Klingon carrying him flung him inside without much care for his dignity, and Sjin hit the metal floor of the airlock with a hard smack. There was a failsafe, he knew, a second door that would have to be opened as well before he was vulnerable to the vacuum of space. His helmet came flying in after him, and he picked himself up on all fours, glaring back at the door. There was the Betazoid captain, looking stern yet sympathetic, as Betazoids had the annoying habit of doing, and the Klingon, face still bleeding profusely where Sjin had bit him, and a gaggle of security henchmen behind them. As the door closed, Sjin made a very lewd, rude gesture at the Klingon, who growled loudly at him.  
    He was alone in the tiny room, waiting for them to hit the button and send him out into space. At least he could move freely now, could tell his hands to reach out for the helmet and they reached out at his command. Fitting the helmet over his head, he tried to remember how the basic messaging controls worked, telling the tiny computer inside the direct ship contact code Xephos had given him to transmit the information to.  
    Xephos answered, his image projected in a tiny corner of Sjin’s helmet. He looked rather frazzled, his hair was mussed and he wasn’t even in his uniform, rather, what looked like grey pajamas.  
    “Hey, kid, can your Federation goons help me out here?” It was shameful, to come crying to the Federation, but it was at least a chance.  
    “Why do you need help? We’re light-years away.” Xephos had an edge to his voice, a tone that made Sjin think that he really, really did not want to talk to Sjin. He wouldn’t cooperate.  
    Sjin swore. This was not going to be good. “I, er, seem to find myself in a bit of a pickle. A pickle that is an airlock.”  
    The blue boy’s wide eyes shot open, and he started shouting at Sjin. “Did you get compromised? Do they know? What happened?”  
    Sjin grinned nervously, licking his eyeball.  
    “Well, ah, you see, you didn’t exactly tell me she had a _wife._ ”  
    “You --”  
    “Made sweet, sweet space love to the captain’s wife? Yes. Got myself stuck in an airlock? Yes. Am actually stooping so low as to ask for help? Maybe.” God, he was almost stuttering now. Why hadn’t they opened the airlock yet? Were they just waiting to see if he’d suffocate from lack of air? But no, he had his helmet on -- it wouldn’t hurt him anyways, although he wasn’t sure they knew that.  
    There was a loud sighing through the speaker, and Xephos sat down, putting his head in his hands.  
    “We’re not bailing you out. You -- Why the hell did you even think that was a good idea?”  
    This wasn’t the nervous Federation officer Sjin had met the other night. The Luminan was shouting exasperatedly at him, and Sjin licked his eyeball again.     On the way, his tongue dragged against the inside of the helmet, which was definitely not a thing he wanted to be tasting. He spit and sputtered.  
    “Y --You said infiltrate! I figured I’d, y’know, socialize, make a few friends, right?”  
    It was at that moment that they finally opened the airlock door. Sjin glanced at the opening, at the sudden expanse of space. “Oh, _shit_ ,” he shouted, as he was knocked about by the force pulling him outwards, away from the ship. His helmet slammed against the wall, and Sjin let out a reflexive screech, and the transmission ended. He floated off into space, and watched as the hatch closed behind him, and the ship sped by, only metres from him.  
    Well, shit.  
    That hadn’t gone exactly as planned.


	4. Sips -- Plan B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about the point in which I tell you that I've included several other canon characters in bit parts, but I don't know how they got to Minecraftia, and probably won't explore into their storylines all that much; this work is focused on Sips, Sjin, Xephos, and Strife. But if anyone would like to expand on some headcanons, feel free!

    “Gruel for breakfast, gruel for lunch, gruel for dinner,” Sips muttered as he sat down at one of the long communal tables set up in the lunchroom on the space station. “Not exactly mom’s home cooking.”  
    A spaceman with a yellow-trimmed spacesuit looked up at him as he sat down. “At least it’s not my parent’s cooking. They burned down our house when I was three.”  
    Sips chuckled. “I’d love to try their meatballs sometime.”  
    The spaceman picked at their food. “Well, they’re dead now, so…”  
    There was an awkward moment, and Sips decided to fill his mouth with food before he could say anything more. They picked at the rest of their meal in relative silence, until the bell rang for the next shift. “Welp, I guess I’m off,” he sighed, and got up to toss his tray in the trash can, not noticing how the other employee watched him as he went.  
    When he checked the roster, he noticed that he was assigned to a new help position today, a new store installation mysteriously called H.A.T. At least it was a step up from janitor work. He trundled off to find it, which wasn’t too hard, seeing as they had apparently bought the biggest available store in the station, and adorned it with decorations. Mannequins of several shapes, sizes, and species stood in the window, showing off their goods. The shop, he learned, sold suits for only those who could afford them- not space suits, like Sips wore, but actual suits, of vastly different materials from worlds across the sector. He was informed that he was not to negotiate on price, and that the owners of the shop were coming by in a few weeks to see how things were going, so it had better be running smoothly by then, or else. It sounded rather like a threat to him.

    Two weeks later, the manager came rushing in as Sips was folding ties and started panicking at him. “The owners are coming today, early,” the Ferengi shouted, breathing hard. “They said they’d decided to drop by, unannounced, and that if I had any objection I could --” He stopped, and his frown deepened.     “Well, it wasn’t pretty.”  
    The manager spent the rest of the time running around after Sips and the other employees, hounding them about the quality of their work and the amount of money they were getting out of the customers dropping by on their spaceships. Sips was working behind the counter, fighting with the computer and trying to make sure all their stock was correct, when the door wooshed open again. He called out a “hello, welcome to H.A.T., I’ll be right with you in a minute,” but a harsh voice cut through the store.  
    “Yeah, mate, I don’t think you’ll be treating us like that.”  
    Sips looked up, and there were three figures strolling around the store, examining everything. “Can I help you? Oh, wait, are you the owner guys?” He could hear the manager storming around in the back room, probably trying to stall as long as he could before he had to face the company owners.  
    One was tall, so tall he almost had to duck to get in the door, and bright green. He was wearing a suit Sips had dressed a mannequin with just two days ago. Another was short and stout, with two long white tusks protruding downwards from under large, flappy lips. The third was humanoid, at least, with tanned skin and a well-kept beard. He was approaching the counter with a smile that didn’t exactly seem warm and friendly.  
    “So, you work here, eh? A lowly peon of H.A.T. Enterprises?” the green one asked, in a tone that seemed more like a statement of fact.  
    “I thought it was H.A.T. Corp.,” the humanoid declared to no one in particular, leaning on the counter and glancing over to see the computer screen. “Are you sure you’re doing that right? Because I’m not sure you’re doing that right. Hey, guys, is he doing this right?”  
    The tusked one trotted over and walked around the counter, hoisting himself up on a chair to see over to the computer screen. “No, you’re definitely not doing that right.”  
    “Well, it works --”  
    “What the hell is this?” The green one stared at a mannequin, appalled. “This is from last week! Have you not been putting up the most recent displays?”  
    “We haven’t even gotten --” Sips tried to explain, but he was interrupted again by the main desk’s communicator. With a huff, he grabbed at it, plugging one ear in an attempt to block out the rude comments of the owners.  
    “Heyo, thank you for calling your local H.A.T. Corp. store, located on Mars Station Three. How can I help you today?”  
    “Why does he pronounce it ‘aych’? It’s ‘haych,’” one of the owners muttered from his spot next to the desk.  
    “Please direct Sips Underscore to report to Mars Station Three main office immediately,” a tired voice droned over the communicator. “He will be excused from all missed duties. Replacements will be sent as soon as possible. Thank you and have a good day.” Without another word, or even a chance for Sips to reply, there was an electronic beep to signify the end of the call.  
    A summons from the main office left a sunken stone in Sips’ gut. He set down the communicator with a thud, vaguely aware of still-shouting voices around him.  
    “Hey, what kind of phone etiquette was that?”  
    “Oi, mate, I’m talking to you!”  
    “I don’t think he cares, Smiff. He doesn’t frelling care!”  
    “Well, we’ll show him what happens when you don’t care about H.A.T. Corp., eh?” the shortest one growled.  
    “Yeah, we’ll show him!” echoed the translucent green businessman.  
    “Hey, you know what?” Sips spoke over the din.  
    They paused momentarily. The tusked one huffed at him. “What?”  
    Sips took a deep breath and signed. “You’re right. I… honestly don’t care.”  
    He turned and walked out of the store without signing out, and didn’t breathe again until he was three hallways away.

    The main office tower rose through the middle of the station like a hotdog shoved through a doughnut. It resembled this remark in other ways as well, as its copper-coloured struts and stained olive green glass solidified the look of a moldy piece of meat. But despite its many vulgar nicknames, the Meat Shaft still remained an intimidating area for a lowly worker. Sips trudged towards it, ducking past crowds of shoppers and visitors from various areas of the galaxy, as well as those simply stopping off between stretches of space travel. Mars Station Three wasn’t exactly a hub of activity, though, so he managed to reach his destination in much less time than he had hoped. The doors in front of him slid open easily when he slid his card across the monitor, admitting him within.  
    Sips stepped into a small booth, similar to an elevator, and held his breath as it shut behind him. This was always the trickiest part, and he wasn’t in and out of the office enough to have gotten the hang of it. He faced the doors on the other side, watching as a digital timer counted down from 10.  
    If this is even one second off, I’m going to die.  
    He’d really rather not be flung off into space by a mis-timed turn. This step was sadly necessary, as the centre didn’t rotate with the rest of the station.  
    Sips gulped in what might be his last breath of air, and coughed. A breath of air it might have been, but it would have been a stretch to call it “fresh” air.  
    A loud clunk rattled the booth, and the timer showed him 3, 2, 1 as more hydraulic clicks bumped through the floor and walls. When the door finally whirred and slid open, Sips had to peel his white knuckles off of the handle before stepping into the curcular office hub.  
    A small drone flew over to him, humming. “Welcome to Mars Station Three, Central Offices, Fourth Floor. Please scan your identification card.” It flipped a small screen out from its underside, and Sips obligingly swiped his card and returned it to his pocket.  
    “Sips Underscore. Occupation: Worker. Current location: H.A.T. Current location: Central Offices, Fourth Floor. Conflict. Please report to Central Offices, Fourth Floor, Main Desk.”  
    “Oh, Jesus,” Sips groaned. He hadn’t swiped out of H.A.T. when he’d stormed out. As the small drone turned and flew off, he followed it across the echoing metal floors at a decent clip to a waist-height desk with an alien seated behind it. The alien, a scaly blue-green fellow with pointed black ears perched on the top of his head, grabbed the drone out of the air and poked at it.  
    “Sips Underscore,” the alien read off. His translator had assigned him a bouncing lilt to his voice, which was pleasant to hear. “Occupation… yeah… Location: H.A.T.. Uh.” He glanced up at Sips, who half-smiled at him. “Location, Central Offices, Fourth Floor. Ye didn’t sign out?” Eying Sips, the alien turned his ears towards him.  
    “No, I, ah, kind of left in a hurry,” Sips explained, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  
    “That’ll be that, then. Card?” Again, Sips handed over his card to be swiped. “I’ll just fix this, then. All’s right. Simple mistake.” The alien grinned at him, showing sharp teeth, and his ears twitched forwards. “You’re headed to Foreign Relations, apparently. Good luck, many fish.”  
    “Many fish?” Sips repeated, and the alien only nodded and returned to his work.  
    Sips looked at the drone, but it seemed content to stay where it was at the alien’s side. He turned around, scanning the smooth, circular walls of the office. There were several double-door sections, likely openings for booths, and only one elevator that he could see, situated directly behind the alien’s desk.  
    “Uhm, is there like… should I just go through there?” Sips gestured at the elevator.  
    The alien didn’t look up.  
    “Hello?” His own voice echoed back at him from the walls. “I, uh, I don’t really exactly know where I’m supposed to be.”  
    Still getting no response, Sips fidgeted and hunched his shoulders. There was no other being in the room, as far as he could tell. “Hey!” In one last-ditch effort, he dropped his arm behind the desk and waved it in front of the bug-eyed fellow’s face. This, finally, achieved a response, and the alien looked up at him.  
    “Wait, why ye still here?” His ears twitched outwards.  
    “I dunno where I’m supposed to be,” Sips repeated, slightly startled.  
    “Ah, yeah, right through this door, Sixth Floor.”  
    “...Yeah.”  
    “Good luck, many fish.”  
    “Many fish to you, too.”

    The elevator trip, much like the walk to the Hotdog, was much shorter than Sips would have liked it to be. He had to swipe his card three more times until he finally reached a door labelled “Foreign Relations.” Straightening his modest spacesuit, Sips stepped forwards into the grey-green room.  
    One figure stood behind the room’s chrome desk, facing a video screen on the wall behind them. They were dressed in a standard green Quiard suit, hands clasped behind their back, tall, with broad shoulders that stretched the elastic. But despite this, it was the slim being on the video screen across from them that struck him to the bone. There, in formal dress Sips had only seen from propaganda films, a Federation officer imposed himself upon the environment.  
    The Quiard official spoke in low tones.  
    “This is highly unorthodox. If we discover that there is any sort of direct anti-Quiard activity, there will be severe consequences on both sides.”  
    “I’m fully aware, Dave.”  
    “Please don’t call me Dave.” They sighed deeply, their shoulders lifting and dropping. “I’m doing all I can. I’m giving you a worker, just one, and I’ll screen any information he gathers. I don’t even know how you roped me into this.”  
    “It’ll be fine, Da -- Kirin. There is no diplomatic war without a healthy amount of spies on either side. I know you’ve got some in our ranks.”  
    “Xephos. Please don’t make me regret this.”  
    “All I need is -- Hold on.”  
    The Federation officer leaned closer to the screen, and Sips held his breath as if he were a Wheetlebird trying to hide himself from the Yoon.  
    Unfortunately, he was rather larger than a Wheetlebird, and soon both diplomats’ eyes were trained on him.  
    “Uh, hi.”  
    “Sips Underscore? Please, come in, sit down.” The muscular Quiard held out their hand. “Kirindave, head of Foreign Relations. We’re so glad you’ve agreed to cooperate in this.”  
    “What? What did I agree to?”  
    “I’ll inform you on your mission soon enough. Hold on.” They turned back to the Fed on the screen. “Good day, Xephos.”  
    “Good day,” he replied, and the screen faded back into the wall.  
    Sips sat. The white metal chair pushed his back straight, and in the absence of slouch, his chin instinctively ducked low into his chest in a protective stance.  
    Kirin remained standing, sighing deep within his broad torso once more and turning to Sips with a smile that he didn’t quite trust.  
    “Congratulations. You’re being reassigned to the _Q.S. Wyvern_. Didn’t you always want to explore space?”


	5. Sjin -- Interlude

    Sjin wasn’t one for religion, but he certainly thanked _something_ when he realized he wasn’t dead. The helmet he’d picked out for his disguise aboard the _Wyvern_ somehow still functioned, despite being several years old. While he didn’t technically need much oxygen to survive, it would have been a completely miserable experience to feel his scales peel and drop off from the inescapable radiation of nearby stars. He already had a few bare patches from his run-ins with humans and the law and military forces of various planets and star systems.  
    Unfortunately, it slowly dawned on him that he was still floating, untethered, in the middle of a bare patch of space.  
    “Come on, Sjin, we’ll get through this,” he told himself. “I’ve got all the time in the world!”  
    “All the time in the world,” he repeated.  
    “Yes. A ship is sure to come by and rescue me sometime!”

    Sjin decided that floating was his new hobby. He attempted to float left, then right, then upside-down -- but nothing seemed to work. Kicking and wriggling did nothing in the vacuum of space, as there was nothing to push against. Just after the third planet he passed, something seemed to loom in the distance, a dark blot against the light of the stars. A little while later (or, well, it could have been a very long while, for all he could tell, having no frame of reference), he approached it. Only a few meters above his head, a mind-bogglingly huge ship hung, lifeless and wrecked. It bore the Quiard symbols, in bright white and green, a militia ship. He could even see inside through some of the massive holes in the hull, catching glimpses of rooms and furniture.  
    As he approached the middle of the ship, Sjin peered up into the darkness, trying to make out basic shapes. He stared hard, willing his slitted eyes to open and allow more light. There, a shape formed itself, just in the corner of his vision. As it became clearer, Sjin’s heart would have jumped into his throat, if it wasn’t thoroughly protected within several layers of bone, organs, and muscle tissue in its comfortable resting place in his chest cavity. Staring back at him were two dead eyes, two empty sockets jutting out of the jet-black skull that he faced. Its jaw was nowhere to be found -- if it had even had a jaw in the first place. The poor fellow didn’t even have a body attached anymore.  
    After the initial shock, Sjin reached for it, stretching his catlike proportions as far as he could and extending his claws for extra length. The tip of one claw tapped at it, but it served no purpose other than teasing him as it spun. He batted at it with the other hand, the phantom idea of his grip seemed almost solidified between his hands -- but again, it slowly drifted out of his reach. He floated a few inches closer, on the natural progression of his path, and it hit his outstretched palm. Why Sjin even wanted it, he certainly didn’t know, but he had his sights set on it and it was going to be his. In one last desperate grab, his hand closed around it, the fragile bone pressing back against him. Sjin dug his claws into it, got it, had it, pulled it close to himself.  
    The dark skull was solid, real, in his hands, the only thing he had to ground himself in the vast emptiness. He turned it round, examined its sharp edges and odd indents, affected by no accident but by design, the cruel hand of nature. One eye socket stuck out from the main form, turning abruptly again. The other was fused directly onto what Sjin assumed was the front. In any case, it was at least something.  
    “I’ve been floating out here for a while,” he told it. “They threw me off the fucking ship! It wasn’t my fault. The captain was crazy. All I did was sleep with her wife.”  
    The skull stared at him judgmentally, which was odd, as it wasn’t alive and thus couldn’t have stared at him in any way. In addition, it wasn’t even a skull.     It happened to be an old recording device that one history-conscious crew member had brought along with him on what he obviously thought was to be a longer trip than it actually had turned out to be.  
    “I mean, she could have at least -- _at least_  waited for the police or something. She didn’t have to try and murder me. And that big old Klingon fellow. He should have got what was coming to him! I nearly gave it to him, I did.”  
    The not-skull seemed to agree, although it did its best to inform him that he was likely suffering from Space Hallucinations, caused by a prolonged period of time in space with no outside communication. Sjin informed it that if it kept back-talking him, he’d just as soon throw it back in the junk pile where it came from.

    They stayed on fairly even grounds from then on, and, on a whim, Sjin decided that these amazing adventures he was having deserved some sort of documentation.  
    “Day One,” he announced to the Not-Skull. He had decided it was Day One because it was the first day of this documentation, and also because he hadn’t really any sort of frame of reference for the current time. “Day One.”


	6. Xephos -- A Moment of Peace

    As the video screen faded back into the wall of Captain Aristo’s ready room, Xephos let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Plan B had been risky to set up, and Xephos was still a bit terrified at the prospects. Working with Kirin again was… odd. What had caused him to pick a side? He’d always been a neutral party, trustworthy for the task he was set to do. Now, when Xephos talked to him, he’d seemed guarded, hesitant. Xephos could only hope that Kirin still held his standards of seeing a job through.

    “You know I still don’t like this.” The half-Andorian captain frowned at him, zir tiny antennae twitching in disapproval.

    “Well, it’s been approved by the Federation Council,” Xephos reasoned, and tried to believe the words himself. “If it doesn’t work, if he gets found out, we just pull out. We were never here.”

    Captain Aristo nodded. Ze crossed zir arms, and zir lips tightened, but ze didn’t argue. “You are dismissed,” ze told him, turning back to her own work and reports.

    Knowing when to drop the subject when it came to the Captain, Xephos saluted smartly and whipped out of the ready room. He greeted the few crew members who were manning the bridge, then ducked into the turbolift and paused, considering. Rest would be great, right now… but something else slotted itself into place in his often forgetful mind.

    “To Engineering,” he commanded, and the turbolift complied, sinking down into the bowels of the ship. The thought occurred to him briefly that he wasn’t even sure whether Will Strife was on duty. If the other Luminan wasn’t there, he could simply pass it off as a simple check-up, to show the crew that he was having no issues in taking on the position of a superior officer, even if it had been rather sudden for them all.

    To Xephos’ relief, the man in question was indeed on duty, crouched at the base of a console next to the warp core, the surging heart of the ship. Even after serving for several years on the Enterprise-H, it was still an intimidating sight. Work consoles displaying data he had no hope of comprehending lined the walls around the central core. The core was a tall pulsing blue tube, and a few decks of the ship were designed with a large hole through them through which the core passed. Xephos walked up to it and eyed it. It had always made him uneasy, for some reason he couldn’t quite yet pin down. The low hum it gave off was comforting, though, a sign that everything was working smoothly.

    Xephos looked back again at Strife. He had an electrical panel open at the console, his familiar bright red toolbox by his side. A few tools were scattered around him. Strife seemed completely engrossed in his work, twisting various wires around and tapping at metal bits, humming and muttering to himself.

    “Assistant Chief Engineer Strife.” Xephos clasped his hands and stationed himself beside Will. To Xephos’ endless amusement, Strife appeared to attempt to jump three feet in the air out of fright, but his journey was cut short by the top edge of the control panel smacking into the back of his head. Rubbing his bruised skull and drawing himself out of danger, Strife sat back on his heels and glared at Xephos.

    “Oh, what now? We’re having enough trouble dropping in and out of warp so frequently,” he snapped, a frown deepening on his face. Xephos hated to see him so frustrated, and decided to take it upon himself to draw some of that tension out of him.

    With a teasing smile, Xephos crouched next to him and peered into the mess of wiring as well, pretending he knew what he was looking at. “Are you saying you _can’t_ do it?”

    “Of course I can do it. The problem is whether the _Enterprise_ can do it. I’m not having her -- it’s not -- Xephos, she’s an old bird already. And don’t --” Xephos stifled quiet laughter, and Strife’s mouth twitched up into a grin. “Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re here to convince me to back down on the replacement core. I know it’s expensive, but ze just is going to have to deal with it! We _need_ a new warp core, or we’re not going to be able to make it to our next mission, especially after all this warping and cloaking we’ve been doing in -- in Quiard territory.”

    Xephos sighed, then smiled, knowing full well that this was a long and tiresome argument. “Well, no, I didn’t get sent down here by Aristo,” Xephos informed Strife. “I just kind of wanted to see how everything’s going, you know.”

    “Ah, yeah. Well, I’m, ha, I’m sorry for just immediately accusing you like that. I shouldn’t have. To make up for it, uh, I’m getting off duty in about half an hour. Do you want to try to play another game of Tri-D chess against -- against the champion?” Strife grinned cheesily at Xephos.

    Xephos let out a laugh and threw his head back, lightly slapping Strife’s arm with the back of his hand. “You’re not the _champion_ , Strife, you only win every time because I’m complete shit at it.”

    “Woah, there,” Strife cautioned, trying to pull his grin back down into a frown but failing completely. “Watch your language, Xephos. It won’t do for the crew to hear you swearing around them, especially not an on-duty officer. We’re role models.”

    “Sometimes I don’t think we’re role models in anything.” Xephos meant it as a joke, but Strife’s smile dropped a bit, more naturally this time, and he shook his head.

    “So,” he said, then glanced back at the mess of wiring in front of him, and sighed.  “Well, I guess I can’t guarantee anything, but let’s say meet in Ten-Forward, twenty minutes? Maybe forty.”

    “What, I can’t stay and watch you work?” Xephos fake-whined.

    Strife picked up a spanner and waved it at him intimidatingly. “Get going, I’m busy.”

    Xephos pouted again, then realized they probably shouldn’t be bantering quite as much within earshot of the rest of the crew. It was rather unprofessional, but that was about what you got when you put two workers on the same crew who’d known each other for many, _many_ years.

    He trotted out of Engineering, and nodded to a crewmember who was just coming through the door, before heading once more over to the turbolift and directing it to his own room. Knowing Will, he would likely stay for a while after his shift. The man just couldn’t put a problem down once he’d started it, even if he’d been awake for days, which had been far more than a one-time occurrence. Since he had some time before they were supposed to meet, he decided to freshen up a bit.


	7. Strife -- How to Play the Game

    The minute Will’s shift ended, he cleaned up his work area faster than anyone else -- maybe too fast, as several crewmembers eyed him and grinned teasingly. A tight-knit crew meant established trust and excellent efficiency, but the sacrifice was a definite lack of privacy. He walked briskly over to the turbolift, shook his head to clear the constant buzz of the engineering section from his ears, and headed straight up to Ten-Forward.

    Ten-Forward was the common recreation area for the officers, workers, and guests of the Enterprise. It had been first installed in the days the  _ Enterprise-D _ was in commission, and the practice had remained through to the  _ Enterprise-H _ . Strife’s head was full of facts like that, and maybe that’s why Xephos was honestly one of the only people who could tolerate him for very long. Sure, the others respected him for his skills, and for his position as Assistant Chief Engineer, but he’d always felt something was missing from a relationship that was strictly professional. Maybe this was why, when he discovered that another Luminan had been assigned to their ship, he’d latched onto the poor Blue immediately. Their cultural history had been enough to get them by in the beginning, but spending their breaks together gave them more and more to bounce off of in conversation.

    Strife  _ knew _ Xeph was bad at Tri-D chess, but it always lead to the best conversations, so he’d be happy to play nicely just to make the game stretch on for longer.

    When he stepped through the sliding doors into Ten-Forward, Will glanced around, searching for that familiar cyan glow. There was no sign of Xephos, and Strife approached the bar counter hesitantly, a feeling souring in his gut.

    “Uh, hah, is --” He cleared his throat, dropping his voice deeper into his lungs. “Is Xephos here yet?”

    “Haven’t seen him, sorry,” was the brisk response from the rather busy bartender. “Wait for a bit, maybe he’ll be by,” she told him, then scooted off into the kitchen to catch her noodles. Rather than use only synthesized food, Nanosounds was prone to cooking her own, and had built a rather lavish cooking facility for herself.

    When she returned to the bar front, Strife asked sheepishly for a Long Island synthale, and it was handed to him without much affair. The glass in his hand pressed cold against the Luminan’s sweating palm. With another expectant glance towards the door and a self-conscious frown, he wandered over to the long window that stretched across one whole wall of Ten-Forward and stared out at the expanse of space.  Somewhere out there was Lumos, somewhere out there was Earth, and Starfleet Academy, where he’d spent several ages of his life. Strife was lost in the view -- it was only when he tried to bring the synthale to his lips that he noticed that he was shaking. He frowned at his hands. Why was he nervous? It must have been his concern for the warp core, the unusual amount of malfunctions they’d been having recently. Could be dangerous if they didn’t get it repaired soon.

    Taking a sip of synthale, he looked out once again. He often wondered if they’d ever make it home, wherever ‘home’ was. Another frown crept across his face as Will questioned himself as to  _ what _ he considered home. He hadn’t spent much time on Lumos, the Academy was his first real safe haven -- but that was only school… and it would be too much of a cliche to say that the  _ Enterprise _ was his home. It was only his workplace. Where in the universe was he looking forward to returning to? What in the universe  _ could _ he look forward to?

    Someone touched his shoulder, and Strife almost jumped out of his skin for the second time that day. He glanced behind him and saw that it was only a familiar blue-freckled face.

    “Xephos, hello,” Will laughed, trying to get his heart to calm down from the scare.

    Xephos smiled at him. “Strife, friend, you’re talking out loud again,” he murmured gently. 

    “Well, maybe if you’d stop sneaking up on me…” Will sighed and shook his head, realizing Xeph’s words. “I was? What was I talking about?”

    “You missing home, friend?”

    Strife turned out towards the stars and galaxies once again. “I mean, aren’t we all? Five-year missions often turn out to be a lot longer than expected.”

    “I’m sure your family and mate will be fine,” Xephos sounded like he was trying to reassure Strife, and the green Luminan was having none of it. 

    Strife sputtered and laughed awkwardly, his hands clasped tight behind his back. “I, uh, I never really had a mate,” he told Xeph. “ I mean, there was a lovely other Green I was pursuing, but… that was ages ago. I prioritized Starfleet.”

    “Do you, ah, do you want me to set up the chessboard?” Xephos asked, abruptly cutting off the conversation.

    “I mean, well, you can. I was just…” Will paused. “You know what, sure. Let’s do that.”

    Picking out a nearby table, one tucked away in a corner of the room, the two took their opposing seats and Xephos unfolded his own board. They set up the pieces on each level with practiced ease and shook hands -- a silly gesture, normally only used for tournaments, and much more talented players than themselves. 

    The starting moves were completed in silence, each Luminan assuring that he wouldn’t make a fatal mistake so early on. 

    Strife was the first to speak.

    “Do we want a forfeit for this one?” he proposed, and Xephos looked up at him.

    “Isn’t it a bit late? I mean, we’ve already started, but if there’s something you’d like to give up, then sure, go ahead,” he grinned.

    Strife scoffed. “There’s been days you’ve suggested a forfeit about two turns before the end, when you’re winning, you  _ scrub _ ,” he accused.

    Xeph only grinned at him. 

 

    Three moves later, Strife captured Xephos’ rook and crowed triumphantly. “First kill!” 

    “Why is that still a bragging point? I’ve won, like, _ three _ out of the last fifty we’ve done. It’s not -- it’s not exactly an  _ achievement _ ,” Xephos pointed out. “You’d be better off making a parade about how you -- how you heroically killed a fly or something.”

    “I wasn’t!” Strife protested, but against  _ what _ he was protesting he wasn’t sure. All he knew is that he felt like his pride had been insulted, and that was unacceptable. “I didn’t  _ brag, _ I was just  _ saying _ , I got the first kill. I took your piece.”

    “Took my peace of mind, too, that we could actually finish one game without an argument.”   
    “Xephos, I’m not -- I’m not arguing with you! It’s a stupid chess game!” Strife’s voice raised perhaps a notch above what it should have been, before he could fully register that Xephos was joking. He glanced around to the other patrons of the recreation area, burning under their curious stares, and sheepishly turned back to the game. 

    Xephos only grinned at him and pursed his lips before sliding his queen over towards Strife’s king.

    “Check!”

    Staring at him for a moment, Strife took in the sight of the smug bastard, then tightened his own lips in imitation. He glanced down at the chessboard again, then glanced back up to Xephos and raised his eyebrows in a taunt. The blue Luminan might have been  _ smart, _ but his three-dimensional visualisations were still lacking. With one swift move, Strife knocked Xephos’ queen off the board, and it clattered to the table in front of them.

    “You  _ bastard! _ ” Xephos sputtered, but there was no malice in it. His grin cracked and spread across his face, pushing up into his cheeks. The smile emphasized the stars in his eyes, the ones that twinkled when he had something mischievous in mind. Strife cackled.

    “You’ll learn someday, little grasshopper.” As he made the joke, their eyes met, and Strife coughed in alarm. He thumped his chest with one fist -- his heart had done some weird flutter-skip, and left a stabbing pain in his lung.

    Xephos’ grin dropped when he saw the look in his friend’s face. “Are you alright? D’you want to head over to medbay?”

    “No, no, just a -- just heartburn or something, hah, what do they put in these drinks?” Strife chuckled, glancing at his half-full glass of synthale, but his voice was strained. “I dunno.”

    “You sure you’re okay?”

    Strife looked up at him in reassurance, raising one hand. The Luminan was staring at him in concern, but the stars from their laughter still remained, burned into his retinas. Strife blinked, trying to clear them from his vision, and coughed again, chest convulsing painfully. Xephos grasped Strife’s hand, rising from his chair.

    “Strife, let’s get you to medbay, honestly. You’re looking a little green.”

    “I  _ always _ look green, you fuck--”

    “Oh my god, Strife--”

    Xephos maneuvered himself around the table, tugging Strife into a half-standing position. Strife didn’t really bother to struggle, mainly because his mind had decided to focus all cognitive abilities down to the one warm, solid point of contact between them.

    He tried one last protest. “Our game, though?”

    “Rain check. We’ll make it up some other time. I just want to make sure you’re okay to work your next shift. Can’t have one of our top engineers just keeling over, can we?” Xephos smiled at him, gently, and Strife fucking hated being patronized -- but this wasn’t patronizing, this was Xephos’ way of giving him an excuse, giving him an out, so that he didn’t have to seem weak. Strife understood, and allowed himself to be led. They paused for a moment while Xephos took down the gameboard, not bothering to note where their pieces had been. 

    Unfortunately, Strife noticed that his heart had finally eased off the gas pedal, and his pain was easing rapidly. It was much like his experiences in technology -- he’d try to solve a problem for hours, but as soon as someone else came to take a look at the issue, it would be miraculously gone. And now, when he’d finally given in and decided to let Xephos escort him to medbay, his body decided to right itself.

    Xephos returned to his side, and held out an arm, but Strife rejected the assistance. They strode out of Ten-Forward and Will sighed at the cautious looks Xephos kept throwing his way.

    “Honestly, I think I’m fine now. It was just a little hiccup. It’s not an issue.” Strife turned away, heading in the direction of his own room. Xephos caught his arm, bringing him up short.

    “Will…” Xephos frowned at him, in that way only Xephos could.

    “I’m perfectly fine. Frankly, I think the only reason you stopped our chess game is because you knew you were going to lose.” He grinned at the taller Luminan in an attempt to dispel the worry.

    “Where are you headed?”

    “My room. I’ll take a nap before my next shift, or something.”

    Xephos nodded firmly. “Then I’m going to walk you there. It’ll look bad if you collapse on the way, and we do need you in service, functioning.” He was using that damn voice again, the one that sounded like he thought he was completely in charge of everything.

    “I don’t need you to babysit me,  _ Sir. _ ” Strife deliberately used the formal term, a reminder to the both of them that Xephos was technically a superior officer.

    The edges of Xephos’ mouth twitched. Will watched as he tried to suppress it for a moment, then his shoulders shook, and an honest-to-god  _ giggle _ bubbled up from the tall Luminan.

    “What? What? What’s so funny?” Strife sputtered in protest, feeling as if Xephos was in on some secret joke at his expense.

    Xephos pressed his lips together again, though they still quavered. “Just, oh god, just how ridiculous we are sometimes, this whole…” He gestured vaguely, indicating their surroundings. “This whole… everything. Being on a ship in the middle of enemy territory, trying to avoid an outright war… do you ever think about how far away Lumos is? Do you even remember your first trip to Luminas? Such a gorgeous city, all those buildings and lights, and it all seemed so big…”

    The nostalgia was so sudden that it took several moments for Strife’s mind to reroute and understand what in the stars Xephos was talking about. “Luminas? The capital?”

    “Yeah! Just… towering buildings, and everything so fast and everything, everything so bright and loud… and then you get to Starfleet, and you realize just how small everything really is…” He leaned against the cold wall of the corridor and closed his eyes.

    “I guess…” Finding himself at a loss for words, Strife stared at the lanky Luminan, eyes tracing the way his shoulders drooped, how his chest rose and fell as though a heavy weight had settled upon him. A sigh pushed its way up through his abdomen and rattled through his torso, blowing a gentle draft of air out between them.

    “Xephos…” Strife tried again, softly. “I always loved it out here, how big it all is, how much we still don’t know. There’s so much more to do and see out here, and hell, even the war, the mystery, it’s kind of like something out of a book. It’s all too surreal, but it’s so real. If… if that makes any sense. It almost feels  _ more _ real, sometimes. I don’t know.” Sputtering to a stop, Strife looked up again at Xephos, who pushed off the wall with great effort.

    “Real is real, isn’t it? That’s why it’s called reality. It’s things we can test, things we can feel, and know that it’s not all just in our heads. How can anything be  _ more _ real than something else? Because if something was more real, then the other thing, it would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”

    Strife’s head swam again, and he grasped onto the hall railing. They were still standing only a little ways outside the door of Ten-Forward, and the occasional crewmember that passed them would nod respectfully, acknowledging Xephos’ status as first mate.

    “Listen, Xeph,” Strife chuckled weakly. “Let’s just drop it, okay? I think that synthale disagreed with me. I’m not feeling --”

    In another moment, too fast to register what had happened, Strife found himself slammed against the opposite wall of the corridor. Everything ached, and he wanted to run back to engineering and find out exactly what happened, but the impact had knocked the wind out of him and he had to waste a few precious seconds getting it back, watching helplessly as the darkness rushed in and out against his vision like waves on the shore. Alarms shot through the ship, accompanied by the too-calm voice of the  _ Enterprise _ ’s computer.

    “Red alert. Red alert. All hands to battlestations. First Officer Xephos, please report to the bridge.”

    Will registered a cough beside him, and the click of a communicator. “First Officer Xephos to -- to bridge,” Xephos rasped. “I’m a little banged up, I’ll be there in a minute. Over.”

    “Bridge to Xephos, acknowledged. Over and out.”

    Strife’s head was swimming. An attack -- and while they were still in Quiard space. They’d been spotted, they’d be killed, their presence held up against the Federation as a defiance of every treaty the damned ambassadors had tried to set up.

    “Shit!” Strife slammed his hand down on his own communicator. “Strife to Engineering! Keep an eye on that damn core, get someone on coolant duty! Clamp down on the output, we might need to alternate it with the backup if we have to move out quickly! Is Chief Engineer Forda in there?”

    Before he got a response, there was a firm hand on Strife’s arm, hoisting him to his feet. “They don’t need Forda, they need  _ you _ ,” Xephos rasped at him. “You know a hell of a lot more about what’s going on with that hunk of shit than he does.”

    “Forda’s the Chief of Engineering, though --”

    A voice cut through the static of Strife’s communicator. “Engineering to Will Strife, this is Ensign Tom. Chief Engineer Forda hasn’t shown up yet. Reactor’s stable, but the core’s getting kinda angry. Over.”

    “Rodger that.” With his heart slamming against his bruised ribs, Strife ripped his arm out of Xephos’ grip and stumbled towards the turbolift.


End file.
